Entrapment
by Teen-Lyokofan7777
Summary: ALL HUMAN, the Titans find themselves trapped in cages. They have no powers, and they have different names. What will happen? Find out on ENTRAPMENT!
1. Lucas meets Carly

**Now this is going to be a different Teen Titans story. The names before they get their powers are not going to be their names from the comic books. So here's the name line up so far:**

**Lucas Jones—Beast Boy**

**Carly Short—Raven**

**Kevin von Browiak—Cyborg**

**Lucy Michels—Starfire**

**Brett Adams—Robin**

**Later on there will be:**

**Susan Powers—Terra**

**And…**

**Isabella Short—Cassidy**

**I don't Own Teen Titans. I own Cassidy.**

**Lucas's POV**

My eyes cracked open to the rotten smell of rust. Now I don't know why I can smell rust. It just happened. One morning I smelled a rusted pipe in my house and told Dad and Mom. They looked at me strangely and then found the rusty pipe. They replaced it, though, the pipe.

I looked out to find that there were several, long pipes in my vision. Where was I?

I'm a little slow when it comes to places, but I could tell that something wasn't right.

Then, though I was slow, I realized that I was in a cage. A cage? Why was I in a cage? This was not cool.

Loneliness never suited me well. I always found a friend one way or another.

Also, I was always able to make myself known anywhere anytime. It's a quirky trait that I have.

"Hello?" I called out.

No answer.

I sat up. Gradually getting panicky, I yelled, "Hello! Anyone here? Anyone know why I'm in a cage? Anyone I can talk to? Hello! Anybody?"

I heard a groan in the cage next to me.

"Could you keep it down over there? I'm trying to sleep!" a voice—low and growly—said.

Overjoyed I got excited. "YEAH! I'm not alone!"

I paid for that dearly as the voice clearly had a foot. "I said SHUT UP!"

"Sorry!" I rubbed the back of my head, but felt something feathery. I was about to put some pressure on it when the voice came in again. "Don't put any pressure on that. There's still the sedative in that syringe."

"Oh, of course," my voice broke unexpectedly—I wasn't crying, but I was supposed to hit puberty any day now. "Who are you?"

"My name is Carly. Carly Short," the voice didn't sound male, I just now realized.

"I'm called Lucas Jones." Nodding my head, I smiled a little. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," She sounded the type of girl who likes to be left alone often.

"So when did you get up?" I asked.

"I got up a while ago, but was so tired that I decided to go back to sleep."

"I've gotten up two or three minutes ago," I told Carly. "I have no clue as to why we are here." I was getting scared.

"Me neither," Carly said, almost as if not hearing what I had said.

"I kinda wish we were home," Placing my hand down, I sighed.

"I don't even know how long we were out," Carly moved closer into a light from the window on a far wall.

She had dark brown almost black hair, and dark blue eyes. She had on a dark brown T-shirt that hugged her sides a little too uncomfortably and too tight dark blue jeans. Her shoes were size-seven Sketchers sneakers.

"Aren't you in the least bit uncomfortable?" My eyebrows rose in concern.

"Really," Carly half-wheezed.

She sounded like it should be ignored, so I kept my mouth shut about the subject. "Anyway, I believe were out for a long time." I put my hand back where it was before I was warned.

I accidently gave myself a G-man slap because I thought I felt a fly. I felt where I slapped and realized Carly's warning was true. "Uh-oh!"

Carly was not pleased. "I told you not to apply any pressure on that syringe."

Gradually getting woozy, I was getting panicky as well. "Carly, what should I do?"

"Nothing, it's now in effect. I had done the same thing but…"

I couldn't hear anything else as I blacked out.


	2. Carly meets Lucy, Kevin, and another kid

**Disclaimer: I no own Teen Titans.**

**Claimer: I own Cassidy (Isabelle Short). She'll show up in the story later.**

**Carly's POV**

Well he was out. Now, I was back to being alone again. Super.

I heard someone else cough. Maybe I wasn't alone again. I got a little suspicious. "Who's there?"

The person replied with coughs and gagging noises, as if strangled. "*cough* Lucy Michels *cough* *gag*!"

"Are you okay?" I asked concerned.

"My *gag* throat. They *cough* shot *gag* my throat," Lucy gagged.

"Where are you?" I crawled on my hands and knees, trying to find Lucy.

The light made its way to the other window, showing me where she was. She had long dirty-red hair and forest green eyes. She had on a dark purple shirt with purple shorts.

The dart was my main concern. Pink-feathered, it was lodging her breathing.

I got as close to her as I possibly could. "Okay, Lucy," I tested her name and when I heard an "Mmm-hmm", I went on, "I'm going to take that dart out, but first—" I ripped off my uncomfortable shirt (revealing my comfy one) to make a bandage—"I must apply more pressure. It'll hurt, but that dart has to come out!"

Lucy coughed "Yes!" as she flung her hair out of the way.

As I helped her, I talked to her, keeping her calm. Any panic, and Lucy's life would be on death row.

What was a little strange was the dart Lucy had didn't have any sedative left, as if it all had been used.

After it was over, Lucy sighed with really-needed relief. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome. My name's Carly Short, by the way."

My shirt soaked up any blood that was there, which, fortunately, there wasn't, but I wasn't going to take any unforeseen chances.

"Dude!"

Oh, boy, Lucas was awake. I could only see his silhouette. "What is it, Lucas?"

"That really conked me out!" He sounded groggy. "And it hurt."

"Go figure," I breathed sarcastically.

"Could you help me pull this thing out? I'd rather not have it stick in the back of my head for the rest of however long my life will be."

Sighing, I took off my shoes to take off my long socks. I tied the open ends together and started the removal operation. It wasn't easy though. It was hard to find and I had to grope.

After, I saw Lucas's hand feel his sock bandage. "Not bad."

"Well if it makes you feel better, it does," Lucy smiled.

"What's your name?" He seemed to be looking to Lucy.

"My name is Lucy Michels." She sounded like her name needed a half-pause.

"Lucas Jones is my name." His voice kept breaking a little bit here and there. Maybe he was going to hit puberty one day.

"Why are we here?" Lucy asked.

"I don't know!" I flipped some of my brown-black hair back.

"Dude, who even brought us here?" Lucas chimed in.

"I don't know." Lucy whimpered.

The light hit Lucas's cage next. He looked a little funny with my socks tied around his head. He had spiky dark hair and emerald green eyes. He also had on a white T-shirt with pink lettering that read, "I can flaunt pink too." He had on blue shorts and white sneakers. He looked like a movie star, but I knew he was just an ordinary preteen boy.

"Don't panic. You'll only stress where our captor or captors shot you." I turned to Lucy.

"Oh…my side," mumbled another voice.

How many of us were there?

"Who are you?" Lucy asked, pausing at the word who.

"Kevin von Browiak," the voice groaned. "What are your names?"

Wait a minute! He said names.

"Lucas Jones," Lucas led the charge.

"Lucy Michels," Lucy came in.

"Carly Short," I said. "How did you know there were more of us?"

"Different voices in the room," Kevin said.

The light hit his cage next. He looked to be of double "A" descent with dark hair, a white and blue jersey, and green shorts. His footwear looked to be runner shoes. Was he a basketball star at his school? He even looked muscular.

"That makes four of us so far," Lucy's voice took to a strangely positive high note.

"How many of us are there?" Lucas asked.

"I think there's one more in the dark part of this room. The dude's having fits in his sleep," Kevin scratched his head.

We heard some shouts of "Ugh! ENGH! AUGH! GRR! NO!" as if to accentuate Kevin's point.

He snaked a hand through the bars and tapped something.

"STOP, FATHER!**!**" the voice shouted, then we heard a _thud_ and an "OW!"

"Gee whiz, dude, calm down," Lucas was first to speak with the newest awakened person.

The person started panting. "Just a bad, fever-induced dream," he whispered.

"Uh, I think you mean drug-induced. That sedative knocked you out for several hours," Kevin informed him.

"Well, I'm awake now. What's going on?"


	3. FLASHBACK: Brett's Past up to here

**To reply to crazynerd:**

**They are complete and utter strangers who come from different places. For example, Lucy (Starfire in the future) comes from Phoenix, Arizona. She has a sister (like Starfire has Blackfire) who witnessed the events that led up to Lucy being kidnapped. (Little spoiler for everyone here)**

**Don't own Teen Titans, but I do own Isabelle Short (Cassidy).**

**First Flashback/back-story chapter of Entrapment, enjoy.**

**Brett's POV**

**June**

**One month before the capture…**

My father was an abusive aristrocrat. He always left my face alone because it "reminded him of my mother". Any Bs or Cs on my report card and he'd go nuts, force me into a dark room called "Happy Rock", and lock it. I would sit in that room until he came to get me. Sometimes I would be in "Rock" for a few hours—sometimes a few days depending on the "severity".

He would always apologize, saying it "won't happen again", but it always did. I always knew he was lying. My father, if drunk, belted my hands, ribs, and legs, even when he was in a fury.

My mother left me when I was six. I never saw her after that fateful day in October.

I was running away when a man found me.

"Hey, kid, you don't look too well." He was friendly, caring, and too sympathetic. I turned to run because of my fear. After the malicious treatment my father gave me, I developed a deep distrust of men.

He put a hand on my not-bruised shoulder and I tensed. "I don't trust men."

"Hey, come on, kid. I can be trusted! What's your name, kid?"

He kept calling me "kid", which I took as a nickname. But I was still not convinced. "How do I know you won't return me to my father?"

"Because one of my friends distrusts men, too. Come on, kid. Put a little trust in me," He patted my unbruised shoulder and smiled. "What's your name?"

"I'll only tell you my first name. It's Brett." I tried to jerk away when I realized I was really hungry. My stomach was growling for all the city to hear.

"'Hungry, Brett?" He was shadowed, but he kept a happy wit around me.

"Starving. I hadn't had a decent meal since I was ten." That was the year that my father turned abusive. All of a sudden, my father, the care-free but firm man, turned into my worst nightmare. It started with the beatings, and it got worse.

"Come on, kid. I bet Red Lobster is open at this time," he pulled me to his car. It was a purple Chevrolet car with two pink stripes across its exterior near the driver's side. Inside were red velvet faux-leather seats with brown seatbelts. Needless to say, I was impressed.

"'Like it? This baby's a fuel-injected four-wheel drive with turbo twin engines, 638 horsepower, and one fuel tank to go 65 miles per gallon."

I got in immediately, food on my mind, threw my stuff in the backseat, and buckled the seatbelt.

"'Ready for the first real meal in years?" He asked, getting in through the driver's side.

I eagerly agreed as we sped off to the restaurant. After a hearty meal (and me scarfing down four bowls of shrimp scampi and two pounds of snow crab legs) we headed off to a house. It was a small, two-bedroom house with a garage.

He parked his car outside and led me in.

It was dark, almost dragging me back to my days in "Rock", when he turned on the light.

"Make yourself at home Brett," the man smiled.

"Thanks."

After I turned ten, Dad had barred me from TV and phone, and only homework research was allowed on the computer.

But I wasn't in my father's clutches anymore. So, deviously, I turned on the computer and searched up a YouTube video. It was what a girl in my class blabbed about often. It had the song Blessed by Christina Aguilera on it. She must've loved the song as it hooked me in an instant.

At the same time, I loved the freedom this Samaritan gave me. It was true to the word free. Sweet relief swept through me as I knew I could trust this man. He gave me a home away from the lifestyle I went through. He was a human-training _Dog Whisperer_.

I saw something white and wiry out of the corner of my eye. I wondered with a hint of fear what it was.

"They're headphones. Use them when you feel like it," he told me. He looked to be having a medium build with a light tan, and brown hair.

"By the way, you never told me your name," I smiled.

"It's J.J.G., James J. Gordon."

That solidified the first friendship I ever had since the time I was ten.

I started to gain my childhood again.

Over the weeks, James took me out to all types of restaurants to help me get back to normal weight. And over that time he took me to an acupuncturist to help me learn to relax around men.

On Wednesdays he had to work 11-2:30 as a therapist. After which, we would play videogames until dawn.

But one day, everything changed.

A month of safe haven later, I was starting to fill out a little. My arms were still bruised, but I was able to trust men again, especially James.

It was obvious my dad didn't give an oak tree about my absence. There were no Missing Person's report about me anywhere. The news showed nothing on Brett Adam's absence. No sob stuff in the newspapers or the Internet were present.

But that Wednesday, everything changed.

James, whom I had come to call him "Uncle J. J.", had to go off to work, but I knew he would be back to go head-to-head with me later. As long as I was with Uncle J. J., I was safe. As long as I was in his humble abode, no one could touch me.

I had made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at 12:00 when the mail came. After I ate I noticed a letter addressed to Brett Adams.

Heart pounding, distrust starting to peak, I opened the letter. It read, in very messy scrawl:

You know you can't feel safe forever. I'm coming to get you.

Signed,

But there was no signature. My dad always signed his letters, so I could deduce it wasn't his writing. Uncle J. J. also signed his letters, so I was left with the suspicion that someone was out to get me.

And my agony would make it hard for my newfound trust.

To keep my mind off the mysterious letter, I searched up that Blessed video again. It was a good video. And it helped to ease my fears. But it was not to last.

At one o'clock in the afternoon, I heard a knock at the door. Thinking it was my acupuncturist I went to answer. She always came on random days.

It wasn't her.

Instead a big hulking man with beading sweat on his forehead and furious beady eyes was there. It wasn't my father. Nor was it Uncle J. J. I, now scared, tried to stay calm.

But he was huge and bulky. And I was small and ribby. Both were bad chances.

Deciding that fighting this guy was no option, I ran up to my room, got in the closet, closed the door, retreated to one wall, and tried not to think of "Rock".

My whole body was shaking and shivering so much I heard my ribs rattle. The sound almost masked the sound of the door breaking. I tried to push myself against the wall on one side of the closet, trying at the same time not to whimper.

A few minutes later, it seemed like the person left the premises. But I was not about to open the door just yet. All of a sudden, the door opened and I retreated further. I didn't have much stuff, so not much noise emanated from my retreat. I got only to the wall.

"I know you're in here. You can't hide forever."

I decided there was one other choice. When the hand was near, I kicked his hand.

Gunfire followed as the man was caught off-guard. As he fell backward, I jumped over and raced for the door.

Oh, but if only I knew the guy was still firing. And little did I know that I would fall down at the door.

Looking behind me, I saw a dart in the crook of my knee.

I tried to pull the thing out, but it was as if I was paralyzed. It was impossible.

The man had obviously gotten to his feet, as I heard heavy footsteps near my ear.

"When James finds out," I fought against the sedative's effects, "You're going to need a lawyer."

As the darkness wrapped all around me, I begun to dream.

"Stupid boy!" In my dream, I was back with my father. "Running away from me was an easy feat, but accepting help from a stranger—" he cracked his knuckles—a bad sign—"You've got ten seconds to get down on your knees and pray, boy."

Instead, I faked right and broke left.

"Oh, you are asking for it when I catch up to you!"

I rushed to the exit. _Am-scray,_ my frenzied thoughts kept churning. When I got to the door, I tried to open it, get back to Uncle J. J., anything, but I saw that it was boarded up.

I turned and ran to the window. Opening it, fresh air whipped across my hair and face. I didn't have time to revel there. This was an emergency. My father was almost within the doorframe of the room I was in.

Taking a deep breath, I leapt out the window, picturing the trees' embrace as they would enfold me like my escape.

"Gotcha!" I felt his grip tight on my ankle.

"NO!" I tried to fight him before I slammed right-side into the house that was my prison. I fought as he drug my body back in through the window.

"You are going to regret the day you turned six," He grunted after my head hit the floor.

"Apparently I don't care about my sixth birthday," I smart-mouthed.

He smacked my bruised shoulder and my mind went blank for five seconds. After which, I found him with a black eye and a bruised shoulder.

"You are so dead," he panted as if I hooked him right in the gut. He had me in a headlock in an instant. I tried to fight, but felt myself weaken. He kept me in that headlock for a few seconds and then he let go.

"I think a few days in Happy Rock should provide you with an attitude adjustment." Dragging me, I tried to worm out of his grip.

At one point I snapped, "STOP, FATHER!"

He never stopped dragging me toward the dark room that I remember was the worst room of my entire life.

I felt someone tap my unbruised shoulder, and I shot up, hitting my head on something hard. "OW!" I also realized I was awake. Dad wasn't draging me to "Rock", Uncle J. J. was probably looking for me; and my dream was all it was—a sick, twisted, evil nightmare brought on by a drug or fever.

"Geez, dude, calm down!" someone told me. I didn't know who the voice was.

I panted. "Just a bad, fever-induced dream," I whispered.

"Uh, I think you mean drug-induced. That sedative knocked you out for several hours, man," I heard another say.

I stretched a bit. "Well, I'm awake now. What's going on?"

And that's how I came to be here.


End file.
